Shadow Bringer
by Magic Noden
Summary: Alex is needed by MI6 once again. Even when he declines, he and Sabina manage to get tangled up once again, this time investigating the mysterious deaths of some American Businessmen...
1. Hunter

**Prologue**

There was a man standing at the pier. He was tall, thin, with piercing green eyes and a long, crooked nose. He wore a hood – his clients found it easier to talk to him if they couldn't see his face.

There was no one there when he arrived. He looked at his watch. The flashing green numbers told him it was 00:03. His associate was late. He could not work with someone who did not appreciate the busy schedule he had. He opened his long coat, and removed a package. He was not in a good mood. He dropped it into the sea, and then thumbed the nearest taxi. He'd be long gone before the explosion...

* * *

Chapter One

**Hunter **

It was quite dark in California. Alan Blunt's call came at 9:00am, but in California, it was still only 4:00am. But the Businessman's Club was awake. They had been awake since 2:30, discussing everything you'd expect. Politics, local events, their own very important businesses. And of course, their most recent topic – James Byram. He was an American, like most of them. He had been with the businessman's club for some years previously. But then there had been the fallout. He had wanted to invest a lot of the club's earnings. He was kicked out.

Of course, every now and then he did something irrational – but this was stupid. This was going too far.

"He can't get away with it," said Alex Van Russelt. He was Belgian, but spoke perfect English.

"He's got murder in his eyes, blood on his hands and a knife in his back," stated James Ford, an Englishman.

"What does he think he's doing? Setting up these little 'accidents' that keep happening. He knew Chery was afraid of heights. He didn't fall out of that window – we all know it. This whole business has gone way out of hand."

Everyone was immediately quiet. They all knew that Edward Hall was referring to the recent death of Adam Chery – the lowest member of the club, but nonetheless a worthy one. They all knew he hadn't fallen from a 20th storey window – he was scared of heights. He had been called to an important meeting; otherwise he would never have even set foot there.

"Look – You said you think he's got someone watching us, yeah?" Michael Salathiel, the last group member, was from Texas. He was the traditional cowboy. "Well, if that's true, they can hear us right now, yeah? So they know what we're saying. Catch my drift. Why, even that telephone-"

And that, as chance would have it, was when the phone rang.

Van Russelt, nearest the phone, and the leader of the group, picked up the phone.

"Hello, the Businessman's Club – Who, may I ask, is speaking?"

"You may ask. This is Alan Blunt, in London. You asked to speak to me earlier?"

"Yes. What a wonderful secretary you have, doing 24 hour work. Does she do that every night?"

"Mrs. Jones? No, she was just there tonight. Filing papers for a new mission. But, onto the point. About what did you need to speak to me?"

"James Byram. You know the club member who left last year."

"Vaguely. Continue."

"And you heard about the death of Chery, our finance executive, a few weeks ago?"

"Yes, I remember."

"Well, the businessmen think they are connected."

"Any reason?"

"Well, yes. We faxed you the suicide note."

"Yes, I have it here."

DEAR BUSINESSMEN,

I FEAR I MUST LEAVE YOU. THERE IS NOTHING LEFT FOR ME IN THIS WORLD. YOU HAVE THE CLUB. I HAVE NOTHING. I DID NOT WANT TO DO THIS, BUT BELIEVE ME; THIS WAY WILL MAKE YOU TRULY UNDERSTAND WHAT HAPPENED TO ME. I AM NOT BLAMING YOU, BUT WARNING YOU. GOODBYE.

ADAM CHERY.

Blunt looked at the letter.

"I have read it. But what proof is it that –"

"I'm getting to that!" The voice on the phone insisted. "Did we also fax you Byram's leaving note?"

"No, I don't believe I received that one."

"Well, we'll send it now." The phone went dead.

Blunt turned to his computer and tapped away for a minute or two. Suddenly, there was a buzzing sound and the message shot out of the fax machine.

Blunt read the letter when it left the machine.

DEAR FRIENDS,

I FEAR I MUST LEAVE YOU. THERE IS NOTHING LEFT FOR ME IN THE CLUB. I HAVE TRIED, BUT YOU HAVE PUSHED ME ASIDE. I HAVE NOTHING. I DID NOT WANT TO DO THIS, BUT BELIEVE ME; THIS WAY WILL MAKE YOU TRULY UNDERSTAND WHAT HAPPENED TO ME. I AM NOT BLAMING YOU, BUT WARNING YOU. GOODBYE.

JAMES BYRAM.

Blunt knew instantly. It was as if they had been drafted from the same original copy. Blunt knew he needed a man on the job. Or rather, a boy.

* * *

Back in California, the meeting was dispersing. Hunter watched from the ground floor of a restaurant. The chef had been feeding scraps to a small brown cat when he sprung his attack. The chef now knew what oven cooked food felt like. His gloved hands grabbed a knife. He had been employed for all of them, but over a three-week period. So tonight, his target was the Texan.They didn't have names. To him, they were not people. They were things. It helped him with his job. Not that he needed help – Hunter was the best. 

The Texan saw the chef approach. He saw the knife, but guessed the guy was just making something to eat.

"I wonder if you can help me?"

The guy spoke with an Italian accent. It was strange to see him there, but Salathiel was a guy you could depend on.

"Sure – what kind of help."

"Well my life would be much easier if you could die"."

His accent was no longer Italian – it was sinister, and American.

"What–" Michael began to protest, but soon his ribcage had cracked and his heart was pierced. Hunter removed the knife and opened his pocket. Inside was a note. A suicide note. As the body slid to the ground, staining the motorbike with a stream of warm, fresh blood, Hunter pinned the suicide note to the body with the knife. Then, he walked off, into the distance. No one saw him. No one heard him. Hunter was the best.


	2. Crossed Paths

Chapter Two

**Crossed Paths**

Alex sat up in bed. He was in hospital, but he didn't recognise anything. The walls were bare, the bright blue of a private children's ward. The bed was also a chequered blue effect. He felt as if they were trying to intimidate him. When he had last stayed in hospital, excluding his unfortunate encounter with a train, he had been in France. Perhaps the same hospital? Not likely. It had been very much the same. He rubbed his chest, where the bandages covered. He wasn't bleeding, but it felt strange to think that there was a hole in his chest.

Alex stood up out of bed, and walked over to the window. He was wearing loose fitting pyjama bottoms, his top-half bare, to assist his wounds in healing.

Alex remembered back to his meeting with MI6. He had left the building, but remembered nothing after that. He had been told he was in France somewhere, but he didn't know exactly why. Usually, MI6's own nurses cared for him.

He walked over to a large, oak wardrobe and peered inside. There wasn't much in there – just some old clothes he had never seen before, most of which he wished he still hadn't. Most of it even needed washing, and some wasn't fit for the bin. There was, however, one set of his own clothes. A hooded, grey sweatshirt, and baggy jeans. The grey shirt had a small brown stain on the front. He had been wearing it when he left MI6 headquarters, on Liverpool Street. He had been wearing it when he was shot. Still, it was the nicest thing there. So he quickly dressed, wearing an old white Nike t-shirt he found underneath the jumper.

He peered out of the window. He saw rolling hills, with a small town that looked like it was falling over itself. It was halfway down, so that most of the place was slanted, only curving straight when it reached a gap between two hills. He wondered what it would be like for people living at the bottom. It must have been awful trying to get to the top.

There was a knock at the door. He stepped backwards, then turned away from the tiny community and opened the door. There stood a man, wearing a woollen hat and scarf, with a long brown coat and thin grey stubble around his chin. He wore glasses, and was holding a wad of paper in his hand, kept together in an elastic band. He looked very intoxicated, as if just back from a big celebration where whiskey was the only drink available.

Surprisingly, he was perfectly sober. In fact, he was Alex's doctor.

"Don't know what they think they're doing," he muttered to himself, as Alex opened the door. "Good trick though, I must say."

"Excuse me?"

"Ah, Alex! I've brought your mail."

He had a strange accent, and together with his looks he reminded Alex very much of a mad scientist.

"What, I have mail?"

"Yes – lot's of it!"

He held up the wad of paper, which Alex saw now to be envelopes.

"Mostly from your school friends – someone called Tom, and lot's from someone named Jack. Are they people from school?"

"Yes, well, Jack isn't, she's my guardian."

"Oh, right." He said knowingly, then handed over the wad of envelopes, and left.

Alex turned them over in his hand. Five from Jack, one from his school, one from Tom, one from Mr. Grey, and one from Smithers. He was glad to know someone at MI6 realised how seriously injured he could be.

But there was one that stood out more than the rest. It looked like all the others, but when he looked closely at the small, neat handwriting, he saw the name, and was finally happy.

Dear Alex,

I can't believe it! Dad's new book is rocketing off the shelves, and you are the first person I thought I should tell. You know it costs quite a bit to travel from England to California? Well, it's even more expensive to travel from California to London, but with the Damian Cray book, we'll easily have enough money! Dad says we should visit the whole country – Cornwall, Yorkshire, Liverpool, and London! I don't know if you'll be able to, but dad say's it's fine if you come back to our place for a month. All in all, if you travel with us around England, that'll be two months together. Also, dad will pay for your flight back to England, since he's going back for a book signing anyway! Call my cell phone – wait, sorry I'm turning American – to tell me. If you can, meet us at Trafalgar Square at 9:00 am on 1st December. If not, we'll meet up some other time.

Love,

Sabina

Alex smiled, then looked round for some paper. There was none. He didn't know what else to write on, so he turned over the letter, and began on the back.

Dear Sabina,

I'd love to come – it would be great. I'm in the middle of something at the moment, and I don't know if I'll be able to, but presume I'll be there anyway.

He paused for a moment. He wondered exactly what he was going to say. Telling someone that you've been shot isn't something you do everyday. He decided what to write, then continued.

Sabina – there is something you may want to know. I don't want you to worry, it's all over now, and everything is fine, but...

He paused again, and proceeded to recount his entire story, before explaining he'd been shot in the heart. He even told her that only a small rib above his heart ricocheted the bullet away and saved his life. He ended with...

I am currently in a hospital somewhere, but I should be back in time for your visit.

Love,

Alex.

But suddenly, he noticed the calendar on the wall beside him. It said the date was 27th November. He had only three days to get back to London.


	3. A Trip on the Channel

Chapter Three

**A Trip on the Channel**

Alex was picked up later that day in a white limousine. It had twelve windows, at the first count, and Alex sat in the back, well away from the driver. Crawley was in the limo, and took the time to congratulate Alex on his mission with Scorpia. He seemed quite amazed Alex was still alive. On the other hand, he was very lucky to be alive. If the killer had hesitated just one second, it would all be over.

They reached the ferry port at around three, and waited for the 3.10 ferry.

"Sorry, but for the rest of the way, we'll be in a normal car. The limo doesn't fit on the public ferry."

"It's fine." Said Alex, who really didn't like being in the limo. It made him feel pampered, and even posh. The thought of people not seeing eased the thought. If they could see him, they'd be quite shocked to see a fourteen-year-old boy in a limo by himself.

Crawley returned from the front desk at the main port.

"Out you come, Alex. We're boarding soon."

Alex crawled out of the car, and watched the chauffer drive slowly away. It took quite a while to turn the vehicle around, as it was hugely long and the vehicle boarding post was packed. But after a while, he was riding away into the distance.

Alex didn't like ferries. He got seasick. There was nothing to do. Crawley had offered to buy him a colouring book, but he politely declined. Instead, he had a wander around the shops. Lot's of duty free alcohol, things for little children, all sorts like that, but nothing for Alex.

And that was when he saw it. A glint of black metal. A long bag with a strange shape in it.

A man in an alcohol shop with a gun. He produced it around the same time Alex noticed it. He'd had it in his hand, which had given Alex the speed advantage of seeing it.

Alex weighed up the chances, and knew what he had to do. The gun was now pointed at the man on the cash register. He was young, and looked new to the job.

"Oy, you, get on the floor, or you'll be shot!" he said quite loudly, but not loudly enough to attract attention.

There was a bargain shelf behind the robber. It was piled high with silly soft toys and souveneirs.

Alex ran towards it and jumped.

He'd been planning to swing from the top shelf and kick away the gun, but it hadn't gone as planned. As he hit the top shelf, and swung towards the robber, he slipped and flew to one side. The robber immediately pointed his gun at Alex.

"That was not something you wanted to do..." he said.

His finger tightened on the trigger.

* * *

The body was found the next day. The motorbike, engine still running. The splattered blood. And the body, with the suicide note pinned to it.

DEAR BUSINESSMEN,

I FEAR I MUST LEAVE YOU. THERE IS NOTHING LEFT FOR ME IN THIS WORLD. I DO NOT BELIEVE IT FAIR TO ME, THAT YOU HAVE DONE THIS. I HAVE NOTHING. YOU HAVE TAKEN EVERYTHING – MY MONEY, MY SUCCESS. AND NOW MY LIFE. I AM BLAMING YOU, NOT WARNING YOU. GOODBYE.

MICHAEL SALATHIEL.

It was the same. They all knew instantly what had happened. But Hunter had already gone. They made a pact. The last four businessmen decided that they would each continue to carry weapons everywhere. They also had pagers. If someone suspected something, the others would be there instantly. Van Russelt, Hall, Ford and Rowlands. The last ones left.

* * *

"That was not something you wanted to do..." the robber said.

His finger tightened on the trigger.

But suddenly, something happened. As Alex had swung on the shelf it had wobbled. And now was the time it had chosen to come crashing down on him. The gun flew from his hand, and skidded to a halt in Alex's outstretched hand. He stood up, and brushed himself off. Unfortunately, the soft toys on the shelf had cushioned the robber, and he had jumped up, and proceeded to run away. But a couple of seconds later, there was a smashing sound, and the man's arm appeared, just visible in the doorway. Crawley stepped over the man and entered the shop, holding a broken bottle.

"How long have you been there?" asked Alex.

"A while." Crawley admitted.

"But – I was about to be shot!"

"Don't complain to me. I'm just your backup."

But unfortunately, the robber was up again, and before anyone could stop him, he smashed a window and jumped onto the deck. He paused for a moment, the time it took for Alex to reach the man,but then the robber was gone, jumpingsilently into the waters. At least, that's what it had looked like. But the man had landed in a speedboat. He'd had backup, and was now preparing to ride away.

"Alex-" Crawley began, but it was too late.

Alex had begun to run. He ran along a corridor, where the main shops were. Then he was in a private lounge, for VIP passengers. Then, after a lot of dodging people, he was out again, and now in the kitchen of the ship. There were shouts of protest, and a lot of spilt food as Alex darted past.

"Where the bloody hell do you think you're going?"

"Hey, you're not allowed in here!"

There were even some people shouting in mad French, and though they did not expect it, Alex could translate it all.

Finally, he reached the main deck. He had timed it perfectly. If he was right, he had a slim chance of succeeding. If not, and he had misjudged, he would die anyway. If he was going to do it, it had to be now.

He paused slightly, and then continued running, straight off the front of the boat.

He landed on the speedboat with a thud. The robber wasn't driving, he was polishing his gun. So, before he could even move, Alex swung around, powering his foot into the man's abdomen with such force that the man toppled backwards into the channel. The driver could not do much, because the speedboat was still travelling just ahead of the ferry. But he could do enough. He grabbed a gun, and, steering with one hand, he shot at him with the other. His shots kept going wide, but he wouldn't take his attention off steering. Now was Alex's chance.

He looked purposefully at the gun, as if he meant to grab it. The driver, noticing what Alex meant to do, reached forwards, grabbing the gun with one hand and pushing Alex away with the other. At the same time, Alex jumped forwards. He lightly nudged the steering wheel with his foot as he shot into the air, and turned his head to see the speedboat plummet straight into the oncoming ferry.

At the last second, the driver turned and fire a couple of shots, but there was no aim. The bullets splashed into the cold, murky water.

Alex swam quickly away. He was out of the path of the ferry, but it was near it's post, and so he didn't have far to swim. That was lucky. He remembered what had happened in Cornwall, in the underground mine. He would never do that again.

He floated in the water for a minute or two, then took a deep breath, and began to swim.


	4. Thumbs Down

Chapter Four

**Thumbs Down**

Alex smiled as he saw three American tourists, and wandered over to them. Sabina was wearing sunglasses, and sporting a designer handbag. Edward Pleasure, her dad, was jotting things into a notebook that was almost full with his newest novel. Her mum, Liz Pleasure, was reading a fashion magazine.

Sabina saw him first, and stood up. She ran towards him and hugged him hard. She started asking lots of questions.

"Sabina, I'll answer all your questions when you let go." he groaned, trying to prise himself free of her grip. He was quite glad she hadn't yet adopted an American accent. Her mum and dad were starting to. After a long while, she grabbed his arm and dragged him over to see her parents.

"How are you?" Alex asked Edward Pleasure.

"I'm recovering, slowly," he replied. "With these too ladies around the house, I'm not allowed to do anything for myself!"

Liz punched him softly in the arm. He giggled and they started play fighting.

Sabina walked away, looking embarrassed. They both sat up, but then she turned round and joined in. Alex was surprised there were no policemen about. They'd sort this out in no time.

"Come on then," Alex said. "Where are we going first?"

"I thought we might check out a museum. You know, somewhere you've never been."

Alex was instantly reminded of Cornwall yet again.

"Where do you want to go, Alex?"

"Well, I've been to the Science Museum," he said. He didn't want to go there again. "But other than that, I've not seen many museums."

"How about a history museum? I need to research mummification, anyway."

"What is your book about, Mr. Pleasure?"

"Well, you'll have to read it. It's a children's book, so you might like it!"

"I don't read children's books, Mr. Pleasure." Alex stated bluntly.

"You'll like this one. It's about a teenage spy..."

"Don't worry, Alex. He's joking. He's writing a fantasy book, aren't you, Daddy?"

"Yes, dear, it's a fantasy book. Sometimes I think your head is a fantasy book."

"And why could you possibly think that?"

"Because it's full of fairies, monsters, and other things like that!"

"You can't insult fairies and monsters, dad, they make your living!"

"Ain't that the truth."

After that, they set off. They got on the underground to a local station, and then got a bus the rest of the way.

Finally, they arrived. They got a chance to look at everything, since there was no rush. When they arrived at the Ancient Egyptians, Edward Pleasure began taking notes, while Liz pointed out interesting facts to Sabina and Alex. Sabina and her mum had waited outside the real mummification video, and even Alex didn't like it much. It was interesting, but made him want to vomit. Finally, when they got to the preserved body part, Alex had to look away.

Next, they saw the prehistoric section, where they saw animatronic robot dinosaurs, battling it out to see who would get to eat the other. After that, they saw the Roman times, where some actors dressed as gladiators fought each other, and another animatronic gladiator fought an animatronic tiger, who's paw had been snapped off, by someone who probably knew better.

Next it was the Ye Olde England section, from the Victorian times, to the present day.

Finally, they visited the gift shop. Alex bought a museum pencil, sharpener, rubber and notebook. Eventually, he gave the sharpener to Edward Pleasure, as his pencil lead had just snapped.

Alex decided to do some studying. Even though this was a holiday, he needed to be up to date when he arrived next year. He had learnt a lot of History, and while they were waiting for the next train to arrive, he caught up on his Maths. He read the first chapter of Edward Pleasure's children's story (which he quite enjoyed) and wrote his own. His, however was not half as good. It was about a teenage spy who joins MI6 and has to travel to Cornwall to investigate a mad businessman.

Soon, the train arrived, and Liz set Alex some questions to do on the journey, about General Knowledge. He knew all of them, but really they were far too easy. The only ones he wouldn't have known were the History ones and the Geography ones. But, he saw a map of London in the station and that helped him out. And he had just been into a History Museum, so he was quite likely to have found out the answers. The questions were obviously based on things Liz had seen in the day.

After passing, nine out of ten, they arrived at the hotel. There was a small green at the back, dominated by kids play area and a set of goalposts. A couple of German toddlers, supervised by their mother, were swinging up and down, while a slightly older boy played on the slide.

Alex and Sabina decided to go down for a game of football. They struggled at first, with just two players on a full pitch, so they took off their jumpers and put them on the halfway line, as makeshift goalposts to shorten the pitch.

In the end, Alex won two – one. He had to admit Sabina played well, especially since she didn't get much practice in in America. And anyway, Alex was on his school team, and if he did say so himself, they were pretty good. He was used to winning by now.

The call came at about four. Spaghetti Bolognese was cooking silently in the kitchen, while Alex and Sabina waged war against each other again in a game of Monopoly.

So far, Sabina had more money than him, but he had more houses. He even had a hotel on Mayfair.

Sabina rolled a five and a four, landing on chance. She reached across and grabbed a card.

"Let's see – oh, not street repairs!" she groaned, as she handed over a big handful of cash to the bank.

The phone rang, and Liz stood up, wandering into the kitchen to answer it.

The game continued, and Alex had to pay Sabina for landing on her only hotel – Piccadilly.

"That'll be $1200. Oh, sorry, I mean pounds, don't I?"

"Alex – phone for you."

Alex walked into the kitchen to answer the phone.

"Alex?"

"Mr. Crawley?"

"Yes, Alex. I wonder if you could come down to the bank. We need to talk to you."

"Sorry, Mr. Crawley. I refuse to do any more missions. I come close to death every time, and last time was as close as I would like until I'm ready to die."

"Well, we need to speak to you all the same – about the business with the ferry."

"Look, Mr. Crawley, I'm on holiday – could you leave me alone for just two months?"

"Sadly, Alex, we can't. We have something that needs seeing to. After that, you'll never hear from us again. Never. I don't want to do this, but Mr. Blunt has more power than you know."

"I can hazard a guess. Fine, I'll be there. But I'm not doing anything for you."

"Great. Five o'clock?"

"I'll be there."

Alex hung up, then went back to the game.

At five o'clock, Alex arrived. He entered the bank, asked for Mr. Crawley, then sat down in the comfy leather armchair near the lifts.

The nearest one to Alex soon popped open, and out stepped John Crawley, in his usual suit and Marks and Spencer tie.

Alex stood, and they got into the lift. Soon, they reached the top floor, and Crawley led Alex down a long corridor, to the offices of Mr. Alan Blunt.

Alex entered, and Crawley walked back into the lift.

"Alex." Blunt said simply. He never had any kind of expression. He was a spy. Nothing more. Not even a real human.

"We heard about you stopping the robber on the ferry." Mrs. Jones said. She had a strange, potato shaped head, and was always sucking a peppermint. Even now, she was opening the wrapping of yet another. Alex wondered how she could possibly eat real food with that kind of taste in her mouth.

"You caused a lot of mayhem."

"So? It would have been much worse if the robbers got away."

"Yes. By the way, how did you escape?"

"I swam about a quarter of a mile to Dover, then snuck onto a train to London."

"How did you get onto the train for free?"

"I hid in the toilets while the tickets were being collected."

"Very resourceful."

"Not really – people do it all the time."

"Well, we shall have to look into that. Meanwhile, have you ever heard of the businessmen's club?"

"Not really."

"Well, they're based in America. They are a group of friends, all very rich, who meet once a month to discuss things. But now, two members have died. We need to know why."

"I'm sorry, but I've told you. I don't want anything to do with this."

"Alex, if you'll let me explain, you'll see how important this is. Anyway, in their contracts, it states that if one of them dies, all their belongings are invested into the club. One of the members quit about a year ago, but his contract still binds him. We believe he is murdering each of them to control their power. If he kills all of them, he'll have enough power to control the world."

"So? You don't need a child. You could use an adult to pose as a businessman."

"Impossible. If Byram gets in on it he'll kill the agent as well. Smithers is working on your gadgets now."

It was as if they'd already decided. They didn't care what he wanted. They would send him anyway.

"Smithers office – well, you've been there before. I trust you can find it?"

"Yes, but I'm not-"

Mrs. Jones ignored him and pushed him out of the door.

* * *

Smithers was in his office when Alex arrived.

"Oh, hello old chap! Lovely to see you. Seat?"

Alex thought Smithers was addressing him, but instead a large, comfy armchair slid out from behind a bookcase.

"Now," he continued. "I've got you something to play with."

He opened a drawer and pulled out a sketchpad and a packet of coloured pens.

"Thanks," Alex muttered, "but I'm too old for colouring."

"Of course. That's lucky. You wouldn't want to colour with these. Each colour has a different effect. If you draw on the pad with the blue one..." he began to demonstrate. "It becomes invisible. The yellow one makes it visible again. The red isn't a pen at all – it's a rocket launcher. Just a small one though. And I've only equipped you with sleepers and stun darts. Finally, the green pen is a listening and recording device."

He pointed to a small hole in the pen packet. "You see this? You have the green pen in the packet. If you twist the cap, it will record. Twist it back and it'll stop. Take the top off and it will play. To reverse, twist the bottom. To fast forward, twist the bottom the other way."

Smithers put the book and pens to one side, and picked up a finger ring.

"The finger ring has a special compartment, for storing anything small enough."

"Well, aren't you going to give me something to put in it?"

"We have. See that pattern inside? Press it and it will set of a timer. It's a small explosive. It'll blow a hole in almost anything."

Smithers put down the ring on top of the sketchbook and took out a designer jacket and packet of crisps.

"Sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Smithers, but I don't smoke."

"Well, the jacket is bullet-proof, stab-proof, and really cool looking. The crisps," Smithers turned the pack over, "have a concealed uplink to us. There's also a lighter with a camera in, but that's not quite finished. You'll get it in the mail."

"Well, thanks, but have MI6 not told you that I quit?"

"Of course they've told me."

"So why did you make me gadgets?"

"You'll need them."

Alex arrived back at six. He had missed dinner, but managed to pick up a burger from a nearby takeaway. Sabina's parents were starting to get worried, but he arrived just as they were on the verge of calling the police. He'd told them he was going for a short walk. He came back with his new gadgets in a bag, and when Liz Pleasure asked what it was, he said he'd bought some Christmas presents. They all wanted to see what he had bought, but he said most of it was presents for them, so they weren't allowed to look.

After a couple of days of lounging around, they set off. They next visited Cornwall, for four days, then visited the Isle of Mann, then they went up into Chester, to look at the historical buildings. Then off to Manchester, to look at all the museums, even one made entirely of glass. Finally, they stayed for a night in Edinburgh, then got a train back to London airport. They were going home. For Alex, however, it was quite the opposite. He was leaving home.


	5. The Businessmen's Club

Chapter Five

**The Businessmen's Club**

Sabina's home was enormous. It had about thirty rooms, including a study, for research and story writing, a restaurant kitchen, a ballroom, a dining room, about ten en-suite bedrooms, four separate bathrooms, a library and a living room the size of a normal house. Alex found it quite easy to get lost, and often found himself waiting for a cleaner or a maid to walk past.

The house wasn't just big, though. It was really well furnished, with not a single speck of dust out of place. In fact, not a single speck of dust at all. Alex wondered how Sabina managed to be so normal whilst living in such a house. He didn't have much of an ego, but anyone could have let it get to their head in this house.

Alex and Sabina spent most of their time playing on the latest games, things that Alex hadn't even heard of in the UK. He got to see all kinds of interesting films that he'd been waiting to see back at home, and even got to play on a new Nintendo console.

Alex had been to America before, but then he had been undercover with the CIA. He had been learning all the words that made the languages so far apart. They had helped him a lot in the last three days.

Alex was surprised how many fast-food places there were. They were everywhere, and they had that sort of meal at least once nearly every day.

They had visited McDonalds earlier that day, and Alex had been made to order. It wasn't that hard, but he struggled. He had to pause before every word to make sure he was saying it correctly. Also, he had to learn new currency, and often got confused when using dimes, nickels and dollars.

He got used to it eventually. He already knew French, German and Spanish, so a few different words didn't bother him at all.

* * *

It was about four when it happened. Alex and Sabina had been watching a film – no, movie, Alex reminded himself - something about Dracula, quite an old one. They weren't really, paying attention to it – they were too busy paying attention to each other.

There was nothing on TV, and all Sabina's DVD's were downstairs. She couldn't go down now, or else she'd be caught, and she wasn't supposed to be awake at this time of night.

They had been halfway through a game of Simpsons Monopoly, when there was a loud bang, and a muffled scream. Before he knew what he was doing, Alex ran to the door, and opened it slowly. It creaked, but not enough to wake anybody. He slipped out, into the corridor, and started to run. He would normally have been faster than Sabina, but in his stealth run she easily caught him up.

"What are you doing?" she hissed.

"Investigating!" he replied, then broke into normal speed, as quietly as possible.

"Alex!" she called softly.

"Sorry, Sab. I just heard someone get shot. They could be still alive. They might need help. Whoever they are, I have to help them."

"But, what if the killer is still there? What if they kill you?"

"Even if I die, and even if it's not someone worth saving, I have to do it."

Then his disappeared down the dark stairs, invisible from Sabina's sight, she sat down and cried.

Alex crept down the street, peering into windows, looking for any sign of someone in distress. He missed out the first half of the street – it hadn't come from there.

As he continued, he realised most curtains were closed. But as he drew closer, he saw a sign.

And suddenly, he hated MI6. Every single one of them. Blunt. Mrs. Jones. John Crawley. Every one.

Though perhaps not Smithers. Smithers hadn't sent him to his death – on the contrary, he had given him ways to defend himself – and Alex thought those ways would help him now.

The sign read "The Businessman's Club".

Alex couldn't see anyone when he first entered. He quickly found the light switch, and pressed it. The light slowly flickered on, and Alex found himself in the biggest room he had ever seen.

Three purple velvet armchairs were placed in a circle, with a matching sofa against one wall. A throne was placed at the top of the room, and was incredible. It was made of hand carved wood, with gold plating around the chairs arms and legs.

There was a large coffee table in the centre of the room, with a telephone near the throne, and some files, full to bursting with what appeared to be very important documents.

Alex left the room through a door in the corner, and entered a room which was the opposite of the first.

A bare bulb hung from the ceiling, and that was al that was in the room. Apart from the body.

He had been quite a short man, with lack hair and a round, jolly face. He looked American, and was wearing an expensive suit. There was a small circular hole in his chest, seeping blood rapidly, already covering most of his chest, and a large patch on the floor.

Suddenly, a thought occurred to Alex. This place was bursting with important information. It was hard to break into – so surely it would also be hard to get out of. Maybe the killer was still here...

The first thing Alex did was call 911, the American emergency services. Once he knew that an ambulance was on its way, he decided to search the house. There was no upstairs level that he could find, and no rooms other than the main room, and the room containing the body.

But he wasn't giving up. The buildinghad two storeys. He had to find a way up.

He found the trapdoor under the coffee table. It was big, and looked brand new. It was as if the man's attacker had just put it there now.

He lifted it, and climbed in. He felt steps leading down, and slowly crept down them. Eventually, he came to a corridor. He walked down it.

It was made of stone, and his footsteps, no matter how quiet, echoed loudly all around.

He reached a thin metal staircase that led high into the air. He climbed it, and it seemed to go on forever, but finally, he reached the top.

There was another, shorter corridor, and then a door. Alex opened it and peered inside...

But before he could move, a thick, well-built arm grabbed him in a headlock, and pointed a Smith and Wesson .40 to his head.

He was in no pain, but he was terrified.

"Who are you?" the man who had grabbed him asked with an American accent.

"My name is Alex Pleasure," he lied, "and I was lost, sorry, I didn't mean-"

"I don't care. You saw me, so you have to die. There is no two ways about this."

But Alex had an idea. He jumped and kicked back. The man tried to pull the trigger, but as he'd lost his grip on Alex, it went through a window leading into the back street behind the house. Alex was sure he could jump it if he was faster than the man.

But he wasn't. The man grabbed his leg, pushing Alex to the ground, and pointed the gun once again at Alex's head.

"You're annoying me, boy. Why, I'd love to torture you, but I have to be somewhere."

But suddenly, Alex heard sirens outside.

"You called the cops? You little-"

The door banged, and heknew the police were in the building.

He quickly smacked the gun against Alex's head, knocking him out cold, then jumped, straight through the window, then landed on his feet, body over his shoulder, and began to walk away.


	6. Counter Strike

Adcohen – Don't worry – Blunt will be seriously injured

Fensta – I am planning something really big in that department next chapter

Grey Waters – Of course!

Amadeus16 – Why thank you!

Chapter Six

**Counter Strike**

Alex sat back in his cell, wondering what to do. He had awoken with pain in his neck, and what appeared to be a broken or at least twisted ankle. He couldn't escape, the door was high up, and presumably he had been brought down by some sort of ladder, that, when he had been deposited, lifted back up.

But whoever had captured him had been pretty stupid. They had given him everything he needed – he was in a storeroom. There was nothing he could really use, and old hammer, a chisel, some pillows, a sheet of cloth, and couple of planks of wood. Nothing he could use.

Unless...

He still had his gadgets with him – the men hadn't checked him, which proved that either they were really dumb, or they didn't intend to keep him for long.

He had an idea, but it would take him a long time. So he quickly grabbed the chisel and hammer and got to work. He had calculated all distances, and hoped it would work. He had to rely on luck far more than he wanted to, but he had to try.

Eventually, there were two small grooves in the opposite wall. They were stone, and they were falling completely to pieces. But, they would hold. They had to hold.

He grabbed the planks, and inserted one into each small groove. He then leaned them against the opposite wall. He was lucky, they were quite near to the door, but they still wouldn't reach. His plan was going to fail.

No – he had to escape from here, no matter what. He could probably jump it, and if he didn't – he had a seven foot fall onto hard stone.

He mounted the planks and began to climb. It was like a climbing frame at a kids park, a broken one with the rungs missing. He had completed that often enough. Just two feet closer to the ground. Two feet isn't much, but it can be quite frightening if the jaws of death are snapping at you at the bottom, and your journey up holds only more peril.

It was about halfway up when it happened. One of the grooves became looser, and Alex became aware that one of his footholds was loosening. But just as he started to move away, he slipped. The plank gave way, and suddenly Alex was hanging for dear life from a single thin plank of wood, leaning against a crumbly wall, with nothing to stop him from certain death.

It was too late, and Alex already knew it as he heard the bar creak, and then snap under his weight.

* * *

Sabina had heard the police, and ventured outside, to see where Alex was. Her parents had both been woken, but didn't think anything of it, and were soon back to sleep. But Sabina knew something was wrong, and that Alex had contacted the police.

She arrived at the house just as the ambulance was loaded with a cloth stretcher, held out by two men. On the stretcher was a figure, covered by a white, linen sheet. She knew what it was.

She ran forward, desperate to see Alex. She grabbed the closest policeman.

"Excuse me – have you seen my friend?"

"Middle aged male, dark hair?

"No. Fourteen year old boy, fair hair. He contacted the police."

"Well, he's not in the house. He must have left."

"Thanks." Sabina said, and begun to walk away. She knew Alex was dead. The killer had taken Alex with him.

Suddenly, she saw something. It was just a blur, but she could have sworn she saw a person. She was at a 50˚ angle from the house, and behind it she was sure she had seen a shadow drop down from an upper floor.

She broke into a jog, and then a run. She knew what she had to do. She had to rescue Alex.

* * *

Alex was lucky he didn't die. As he fell, he managed to move his legs, in an attempt to steer himself away from the stone floor. But, as he did, he knocked into a pile of pillows, scattering them into a heap on the floor. He landed on one, and didn't hurt himself too badly, but he was winded, and thought he had broken a finger or two.

But he couldn't escape. His planks had snapped – there was no way out.

Suddenly the door opened, and a man stepped into the doorway. He spoke to Alex.

"You are going to die. If you complain, you'll die now. If you comply, you will die later."

"Well, I'd rather die now, because I wouldn't have to smell you for much longer."

"Oh, you asked for it boy!"

He brought up his hand, and Alex heard a crack.

* * *

Sabina was surprised how lax security was. Really, she had just walked in, followed a fat man, with old, paint-stained jeans, and she was there.

She had found a metal rod, and used it now. As the man's hand came up, holding a gun, she smacked him hard in the back of the head.

He fell, landing rather near Alex.

"I didn't like the smell, either." she called down.

"I understand that, but how do I get out?"

"I'll find the ladder."

After about three minutes, Alex was giving up, and Sabina appeared in the doorway. She dropped a wooden ladder that almost reached the floor. Alex mounted it, and began to climb.

It didn't take long for Alex to reach the top. When he got there, Sabina hugged him, then kissed him softly on the lips. For the first time, Alex felt that he wasn't a spy, that he was an ordinary boy. He wasn't here on MI6 orders – he was here by accident. He didn't have to blame anyone for what had happened – he only had to thank Sabina for saving him.

"Come on," Alex said. "Let's get out of here, before we get caught."

"Alex – What about when we get back? What happens then?"

"We have to take it step by step. We'll deal with that when it happens."

Sabina was silent for a moment, then a decisive look spread across her face.

She grabbed Alex's hand, then started to run.

* * *

The two men watched the young couple fleeing. They spoke in German, their only common language.

"So? Folgen wir?"

"Nein. Unsere Priorität ist der Geschäftsmann."

They just sat and watched from a high window as Alex and Sabina disappeared. They didn't care – it wasn't their problem. Secretly, they liked angering their boss anyway.

Not another word was said until the end of the shift.


	7. Playmate

Chapter Seven

**Playmate **

It was about four, and at Paddington Station, the last train to Manchester was pulling into the station from Waterloo.

James Ford had been visiting his son for the weekend, but at the last second, his flight to the States had been delayed. He had to be back before tomorrow evening, so it meant a last minute booking from Manchester Airport. But that meant a train journey first.

"Station Announcer. London to Manchester – non VIP's to any open door please."

It was his boarding call. He folded up a copy of The Sunday Times he had been reading, packed it into his briefcase, and approached a policeman guarding the door.

"Hi, we've had some security, and I'm just here to check everything out."

He handed his ticket over, and watched the man. He wasn't old, with short pitch-black hair poking out from under his cap. He was tall, very tall in fact, towering over James. And on his face was a look of concern.

"Sorry, mate. This is a fake."

"What do you mean? I just bought this."

"Did you get it from the ticket office? Coz some people sell fakes to yeh, and you can't tell the difference."

The people in the queue were getting agitated, pushing and shoving to get onto the train before it left.

"I got it from the ticket office!"

"Could you step aside please, sir?"

Before he could be stopped, the officer had grabbed him and dragged him away from the train. They continued walking towards the front of the train, then stopped.

"Look, mate, I don't appreciate you not co-operating with me. That's an offence, you know? Not co-operating with the police? Oh yes. So, you either bought the ticket somewhere else –"

But a sound interrupted him. The whistle. The train was leaving. And James Ford wasn't going to be on it.

"– or you were trying to get on the train free. I really should search you, to make sure you weren't trying to smuggle something across."

"Look, I didn't know it was fake. Look, I have money – I'll buy another one!"

But it was too late. The train had started to move, slower, but gaining speed heading towards them.

"Look, mate, you'll be dead before you can buy another ticket," hissed the police officer quietly, and suddenly, James knew.

But it was too late. He wasn't going to be on the train. He was going to be underneath it.

Hunter hurried away, and waited for the scream. It came, and he rushed to the scene. Eventually the whole place would be incredibly crowded, and no one would notice the police officer slip into the winter night.

But maybe they would notice the suicide note clutched in his hand.

* * *

A girl walked into the office of Joe Byrne, at Centurion International Advertising.

She was tall, with black hair and striking blue eyes. She wore a black Metallica t-shirt, and black, faded jeans with a flower on her left thigh. She had a tattoo of a rose on her arm, but it was temporary. She was only sixteen. Her face could have been beautiful, but it was cloaked in white makeup and black eye shadow. Her lips were also black, and her canines had been sharpened to a point. She was, in every sense of the word, a Goth.

She was also, now, a qualified agent. Her training had passed well, especially anything involving weapons or killing. She was extremely fit, and passed the assault course in nine minutes. She'd been told the record for the British SAS was only seven.

But now, it was time for her first briefing.

"Victoria?"

"Vicky."

"Please take a seat."

She sat down, and spit some chewing gum into her hand. She dropped it into a bin.

"Okay. Your first mission is an easy one. We have been contacted by our London counterpart. One of their agents is in California, and he needs picking up."

"Okay."

Joe Byrne sat back, and proceeded to explain everything.

It was Alex who'd had the idea. He had thought of it as they left, and now it was time.

He was intending to go back to the club, and find the last number dialled from that phone. Blunt had said he'd been called – maybe that was the last call made.

He had called, and Alan Blunt had contacted the CIA. Now it was just a matter of waiting.  
They'd been forced to stay at the house. Otherwise the agent wouldn't be able to find them. But they needed to hide, or someone from the warehouse may come after them.

In short, they were sitting ducks.

He looked at Sabina. Tears gave her eyes a familiar glint. He walked over to her and gave her a hug. She gave him a sad smile, and then they took each other's hand and walked to the edge of the roof. They sat down together in silence.

Alex knew they would be safer on the roof. He could see over the edge from his position, and if anyone entered the house, he would see. The only flaw was a secret entrance, perhaps underground, or behind the house. It was likely to exist.

Alex hoped, for Sabina's sake, this CIA agent was fast.

* * *

It was when they decided to give Vicky a helicopter that they made a mistake. It was her first mission, and even though there was a guy supervising her, she didn't feel safe at the controls.

Of course, she had pioneered these kinds of vehicles hundreds of times on video games. It just wasn't the same in real life. For one, in this instance, her life was at stake.

She was seriously pissed off with Joe Byrne. He couldn't give a sixteen year old a helicopter. Well, actually, he was probably more powerful than the president. He could do what he pleased.

After about three miles of nothing but endless rows of identical streets, overtaken by fast food restaurants, and other places to eat, she came to a boulevard of posh, tall buildings. One was the home of Edward Pleasure. She had read one of his books, about a demented singer, and understood how he could afford to live there.

Her heat seeker detected three figures on a roof, at the far end of the cul de sac. There was only supposed to be two.

Alex didn't feel the knife sink into his stomach until it was too late. The man, probably a guard from the warehouse, sent to finish them off, had sneaked up behind Alex, and reached round, to get the lethal cut. He had dropped his knife, and then gone after Sabina.

Alex turned around, and saw her running, but his head slipped to the ground, practically knocking him unconscious. He saw the glint of blood on the knife next to his head. He heard a muffled noise somewhere far away, and he once again slipped into the coldness of death.


	8. Project Resurrection

Hey everyone! Since you had to wait so long for Chapter Seven, You can have Chapter Eight as well! Enjoy!

Chapter Eight

**Project Resurrection**

Alex had had enough. He lay in a hospital bed, in a public ward. It was empty except for a boy who had fallen out of a tree, and a girl who had no visible sign of injury, but would not speak at all.

He had decided. He would never work for MI6 again. He had nearly died twice, and was probably clinically dead anyway, the amount of doctors notes he had been given by MI6.

He was called into the Royal and General at one pm the following day. He thought about it, but decided enough was enough.

Then, one of the nurses switched the television on for him, and MI6 and everything else was forgotten.

The letter came at two that day.

**CASE NAME**: SHADOW BRINGER 

**AGENTS**: AGENT RIDER, AGENT BENNETT

**SUBJECT**: Dr. J R KING

**CASE DESCRIPTION**:

Dr. R J King has been in our sights for some time. We have had reports of him performing highly dangerous experiments involving artificial light. Our sources tell us he is trying to concentrate light in order to assist his experiments. We believe this has something to do with his most recent outgoing, "PROJECT RESSURECTION". We do not know much about this, but we know that he cannot just take light when he needs it. We need you two to enter as apprentices. We are aware you are not old enough to work in a scientific environment, but we will sort something out.

THE FOLLOWING IS FOR THE BENEFIT OF AGENT ALEX RIDER, AND SHOULD BE VIEWED BY HIM ALONE.

Dear Alex,

With regards to the recent mission at the Businessman's Club, you wished not to be involved, so as soon as the CIA found an agent, we pulled you out as per your request. The reason we have sent you on this mission, though, is because, unknown to the CIA, we think the two cases have a connection. You will be given gadgets, and, since they were not used, asked to return your old ones. If it really matters to you, you can keep them, and the new gadgets can be used at a later date. I know it's not like me to get emotional, Alex, but I feel I am the only one to really worry about you. I'm sure your friend Tom, and Jack, worry about you all the time but only I really know the full extent of it. I was just 19 when I was pulled in to my first mission. In a way, that's very different to being fourteen, but in another way, it is very much the same. Let me assure you, many members of MI6 regret their decision. I'm not trying to make it seem all right, I'm just trying to encourage you.

Vicky Bennett, your partner on this mission, is from the CIA. She picked you up in the helicopter, and managed to leave the man who stabbed you in a coma. Your friend, Sabina, has been taken home, and until yesterday, was in hospital for shock. I'm sorry, Alex, buy it was you who brought her into all this. Of course, I'm not blaming you, I'm just stating. For now, I have things to organise. Some details from one of our agents has come in about a place in Iraq, called the Zagros Mountains. It's a big place, and at one point, we may need your help. A lot of our agents are less than half as efficient as you. That's a compliment, Alex.

Hope you recover soon enough,

Mrs. Jones 

Co. Manager

Royal and General PLC

Seeing the letter, Alex knew he had no choice. But he had seen a side of Mrs. Jones that he had never seen before. He was starting to see her point, and even though he hated it, he saw the logic behind it all. And now he knew, she did worry about him. She had children, and he knew now that she had feelings. He had always thought of her as an enemy. Blunt was still not his friend, but maybe Mrs. Jones was.

Though he didn't like to admit it, maybe he was getting used to being an agent, working in the field. Maybe Mrs. Jones was right.

She had told him her first name. It seemed like years ago, but it was only a couple of months. Tulip. Maybe she was getting emotional. People always say spies can't get emotional. But when Alex thought about it, being emotional had saved his life. And now, Mrs. Jones was getting emotional. Maybe at some point, she would pull him out. Maybe at some point, she would decide enough is enough. Maybe at some point she would let him live his life.

* * *

There was one man in the room when the agent entered. The man was tall, thin, with piercing green eyes and a long, crooked nose. His face looked as if it had been cut up into sections. All across his face were deep grooves that separated the other sections of his face. He was revolting. Also, his features were displaced, with one eye slightly higher than the other, and his nose twisted slightly, as if it had been broken several times, and was fixed in that position. Overall, he looked like something from a horror movie, a real life mad scientist, conducting strange experiments.

He had never told anyone what had happened to his face. It had happened, and only he could know. The agent, agent Simms, had thought it was some sort of freak accident, an explosion, or a car crash, but no one would ever know.

The room was entirely made from metal. The man was working at a metal desk as the far wall. The door was steel, as was an operating table, and toolbox in the centre of the room. There was also a large sunlight generator against one metal wall. There was only one thing that was not metal, other than the windows, and even then the shutters were metal. There was a small glass tank in the centre of the room. When he had been given the post by MI6, the first ting Dr. King had mentioned was that he was never to touch the tank. Inside was a semitransparent green liquid, and two metal chargers, hooked up to something Simms couldn't see. That part of the tank was clouded. Only Dr. King would ever know what was inside.

It was in this moment that agent Simms realised how many secrets he had from the world. His face, his tank, his sunlight generator. The more he thought about it, the less, he realised, he knew. But then again, no one knew anything about him really. MI6 had provided him with a biography of the doctor, but it only said about his life. Also, there was nothing about the accident, it only went up to 1992. Although, after that, Dr. King seemed to disappear for two years. Another secret.

"Yes, Dr. Grant?"

"I have the results on the sunlight reactor, as per request."

"Good. Are they compliant?"

"Enough. We should start immediately."

"No. I have other plans. I will be away for a week or so. I am looking for apprentices until then, and you'll need to be in charge. I'll know if you look in the tank." It was as if the doctor had read his mind. "Though you don't know what's in there, I would like you to maintain it. If at any time the water turns purple, pour water into it until the purple drains away, and the water is green again."

"Okay, sir."

He turned to leave, but never made it to the door. There was a zapping sound, and the man's brain was instantly fried. Of course, Dr. King knew the man was from MI6. He could use the man for experiments.

He emptied the tank, and binned his experiment. It was dying anyway. But now, he could try his experiment again. He smiled to himself.

MI6 were wrong. The sunlight thing was a decoy. He needed sunlight, but only for Project Resurrection to work better. It could work without it, if he wanted it to.

He smiled again, at the genius of Project Resurrection. Nothing had ever been tried on this scale before. Then he turned on the tap, and watched as his turned the flowing water green.


	9. Shönegarten

Chapter Nine

**Shönegarten**

Blitz Laboratories was in Germany. Alex recognised the name, but he didn't know where from. He was there with Vicky Bennett, the American girl, at a café in Wesel, a small village. The café was called the Shönegarten, meaning beautiful garden, and, other than themselves, there were only three other people.

They were sitting at one of six circular tables outside on the veranda, Alex drinking Coke, Vicky drinking wine. She wasn't old enough, but she didn't care. What could the Germans do to her? Her parents weren't with her, so what did it really matter? Both agencies had given their agents some money to spend, and Vicky spent it on not things that she needed, but things that she wanted. Already, she had bought a handbag, a pair of sunglasses and a limited edition Iron Maiden vinyl.

She was the exact definition of a rebel, and her motto was "If it ain't broke, I'll break it." All she had done all trip was watch music channels and listened to her mp3 player. They had only been there four days, and already her clothes, nearly all black, coated the floor of their hotel room like a new carpet.

She also read a lot, but not anything of interest to Alex. She read murder mysteries, and anything about war. She liked gore and violence, and late at night watched pay per viewhorror films.

She was pretty, but Alex was still with Sabina, even though neither of them ever mentioned it. Vicky just wasn't his type, anyway. She was too loud, and they had different interests. Not that she wasn't a fun person. She was always in the gym, or playing tennis. One day Alex had been out in the town, and when he had got back, she had been playing strip poker with a German boy who she had met at a disco. Neither of them had many clothes on. When Alex had protested, she had asked to finish the game. He didn't want naked people running around the apartment, so he sent the German boy home.

The Shönegarten was a traditional café. It had a front window with all offers, like: Wesel Wurst €1.30. The tables all had red and white checked tablecloths, and hedges around the terrace, separating it from the other buildings. The rest of the village was designed in the same way, all white, with shuttered windows.

Vicky ordered another wine, and Alex another Coke. She also ordered a steak, rare, with chips and salad. She refused dessert, because, as she put it, German sweets are crap. As she tucked into her steak, Alex noticed something. A man had sat down on a table next to them. He was tall, wearing large sunglasses and reading a copy of the local newspaper. A waiter approached. An exchange was made, and then the man had a sudden outburst.

"Und wenn du doppelt so schlau wärst, wärst du immer noch doof! Geh und stürz dich von einer klippe!"

The man stood up, and pointed a gun at the waiter's head. Alex was first into action. He jumped up, and the gun was suddenly pointed at him. But Vicky was faster. A flick of her wrist, and her fork was jutting out of the gunman's leg.

He drooped to attend to his leg. Alex jumped forward, and the man fired, but missed. Alex grabbed his gun, and suddenly Vicky was there by his side, holding her knife and dessertspoon. The man started to stand up.

"Try it, buddy."

The police arrived soon after, to take the man away.

Apparently, he was a hardened criminal that the police had been trying to find for three years, without any luck. Hans Levine, he was called, and he was involved with everything: drugs, gambling, assassination, mugging, burglary, arson, printing counterfeit money, illegally dealing fake items over the black market, to name but a few. Another of the many things he did was manufacture bombs. It was very simple, and he had done it in front of the entire restaurant.

When he had entered the restaurant, he had ordered a bottle of wine. That's what the argument had been about – red wine was more flammable, but he had been given white.

All he needed was a piece of thin metal, with a piece of string fed through, and a small plastic explosive that would start the whole thing off. All he needed to do was attach the plastic explosives to one end of the string, and feed it into the bottle. The metal would balance in the neck.

When the flame reached the metal, the metal would melt. When it dripped into the alcohol, it would turn hot, expand, and set alight the plastic explosive.

The metal was melting as Vicky finished her steak. The wine would boil at an alarming rate when the metal hit. They had about twenty seconds to get well clear.

Of course, neither knew anything about it. Neither knew that, the restaurant was preparing for a special visitor. Neither knew that this was the favourite eating-place of Sven Atalay, advisor to the Chancellor of Germany. He would be there in about twenty seconds.

It was by chance that Alex saw the bomb. It had been placed on a chair, and since Alex and Vicky were at the end of the restaurant, it was facing towards them. At Sven Atalay's favourite table.

At first, Alex thought Hans Levine had left his bottle of wine there. He stood, and walked over. Then he saw the fuse, and the explosives. He grabbed Vicky, dropped more than enough euros on the table, and started to run, at the same time shouting, "There's a bomb! There's a bomb!"

Many people understood, and searched frantically for it. Others saw the panic, and ran anyway. One person grabbed the bomb, and tried to throw it, but it was too late.

Alex was on the phone to the ambulance. Perhaps if they were warned beforehand, they could get here in time to save someone's life.

That was when he saw Atalay, crossing the street. He ran forward to the man, and started screaming, "Don't go in there! There's a bomb!" The man clearly did not understand, and pushed the boy aside,

Vicky shouted something in German, something like "You'll be killed if you go in there!"

Atalay seemed to think this was a death threat, and suddenly, armed bodyguards had grabbed their arms and legs from out of nowhere.

That was when the bomb exploded. Everything seemed to happen at one.

The bodyguards dropped Alex and Vicky, and dragged their client out of harms way.

A fire engine and an ambulance hurtled around the corner and three firemen got out, each carrying face shields, in case of another explosion.

Several people were thrown into the air by the blast, and Alex and Vicky were knocked into each other, and thrown back across the pavement.

There was a serious wound to Alex's head, where the skin had torn on the pavement. Vicky had a scrape on her cheek, and a large bruise on her arm.

Alex closed his eyes, and counted the rhythmic beating of his heart. Tha-Thump. Tha-Thump. Then nothing.

Alex lay back, and seemed to fall, falling and falling forever. Then darkness.


	10. New Recruits

Chapter Ten

**New Recruits**

Alex knew the meaning of dark as he walked through the corridor. He couldn't see a thing, and was using his arms to navigate around. There was something ahead, but he couldn't see it. He knew it was there, and it was getting closer.

Suddenly, it bit him. There was sharp pain jolting through his body. He didn't know what had bitten him, but it wasn't something he had seen before. It bit him again, and his eyes opened. The paramedics had restarted his heart. He opened his eyes. The doctor in front of him was charging the defibrillators for another shock.

There was the biting pain again, and Alex sat up, and then dropped onto his bed in a deep sleep.

* * *

The interview was the next day. Both Vicky and Alex had already studied the possible outcomes, and were linked by radio mike, and so could contact each other if either forgot what to say.

It was Vicky first. She got stuck on a couple of questions, things like: "How do you react to others in the working environment?" or "What skills do you have that could be useful in this sort of work situation?"

For the last one, she had been about to say "Good communicator, friendly, efficient at note taking, good at interviewing," which was what she had said during her interview for her Saturday job, a part time journalist for a local newspaper. They were all fine skills, Alex thought, but not for this working environment.

Two more people followed, then Alex. Alex got a head start, because he knew a lot of the questions that would be asked. He still needed Vicky's help for three questions though.

Eventually, Vicky, Alex, and another boys who looked much older, called Stefan, were given the jobs. There was another slot open, but none of the other five interviewees fitted the role.

* * *

They started work three days later.

Their immediate reaction to Dr. John Robert King was one of shock. There was something very wrong with his face. He looked half dead too, like a zombie. If zombies existed, John King was their leader.

He was also the very stereotypical mad scientist. His grey hair stood out at the sides, in very distinct spikes. He was also tall, and wore strange glasses that made his green eyes sparkle a frightening amount.

Vicky once again managed to sum the whole thing up in a single sentence. "He looks like an experiment gone wrong. A cross between Freddy Krueger and Dr. Frankenstein. It's alive!"

Alex had to laugh. But the man cut him off, speaking for the first time in his high-pitched voice.

"Victoria, I would like you to assist me with my experiments until the time is right for you to conduct your own. Stefan, I would like you to sort out my filing, and fill in any paperwork that doesn't require my attention. Make a pile of things that require my signature. Alexander, you can be in charge of the preservation of my equipment. Anything used by Victoria or myself should be washed immediately, and then stored in the correct place. And I must make one thing clear, one rule you hold above all others. You should never, ever touch the tank." He gestured to the tank, and his expression was suddenly serious. "I will know."

He waved his hand, in a gesture telling them to get on with their individual jobs, then walked over to his workbench.

"What a weird guy." Stefan stated, as he and Alex walked together to the next room. There was no dirty equipment to be washed, so Alex was helping Stefan with filing.

"I can't disagree," replied Alex. "What happened to his face?"

"I don't know. No one does. I looked up the name on the Internet, bearing in mind he is a famous scientist, and found one mention of his name. And that was just in passing, and it didn't say anything of value. There's a rumour that a couple of years back, he sent a virus onto the Internet, to destroy anything with a mention of the name Dr. King."

"Why doesn't he want anyone to know what happened to him?"

"I don't know, but another rumour is that anyone connected with him, anyone with any chance of finding out about him is killed."

"But, who could know?"

"I don't know, I suppose the government, the CIA, other people in high places."

Alex was edgy, but not because of the mention of the CIA. It was because of the assassination attempt on Sven Atalay.

"Also," Stefan continued, "In Russia, where I was born, there was a rumour about him doing dangerous, inhuman experiments, like growing a baby's clone inside it. Ever seen the film Alien?" He didn't wait for an answer. "You know where the alien pops out of the guys stomach? Just like that. And there have been rumours recently that will really make you shudder. According to a friend of mine..."

He grimaced, and that was when he was interrupted.

"What are you doing?" asked a voice from the other end of the corridor. Alex turned to see a woman in her late twenties, walking quickly towards them.

Alex suddenly noticed that they had continued walking, past the reception, where the filing cabinets were.

"You shouldn't be here." she continued.

"Sorry ma'am." Alex interrupted before she could carry on. "We were looking for the reception, but we got lost."

"Backtrack until you come to a door, go through and you'll see another door marked reception." Go through."

She was treating them like children, and Alex knew it.

"Thank you." he said, and then followed her directions to the reception. She followed them in, and sat behind the reception desk.

"Hello," she said. "My name is Annika. I am the receptionist here. Which of you is Stefan?"

Stefan raised a hand.

"Then who are you?"

"I am Alex. I haven't been given anything to do, so I'm helping Stefan."

"Well, the doctor is very disorganised. Stefan is going to need all the help he can get."

* * *

A couple of hours later, Alex found the most interesting thing of all, and suddenly, even though it was only his first day, everything was starting to come together. And Alex knew what was in the tank.

He had found an order form, for something very illegal from Levine Stockists. Dr. King had tried to have Sven Atalay, who knew what had happened to his face, assassinated. He had bought the most horrible thing imaginable. He was a criminal. But Alex still couldn't find the link to the Businessmen's Club.

Whatever was in the tank, it was too disgusting for Alex to think about. So he wouldn't think about it – he would just go in and find out.

Or better still, perhaps Vicky would help him. She was always in there. But when she found out Alex's suspicions, she would never even go near the tank.

Alex knew it had to be him. He put the last of the invoices into the drawer, then left the room.


	11. In the Tank

Chapter Eleven

**In the Tank**

Edward Hall knew he was being followed the moment he left the freeway. This road did not lead anywhere as such; he just liked to appreciate the countryside.

The other car, a red Land Rover, had turned off soon after, and was making an obvious decision not to get seen. It kept slowing when Edward was looking, in a vain attempt to get out of sight.

He decided to trick the following vehicle, by turning off into an old house he knew was in the area. It had not been boarded up, and was only a couple of miles down the road. If he pulled in, and entered the house, the car tailing him could not follow, for then he would know. But, if there was a sinister motive, they would have to follow him.

He rounded a corner and slipped slightly on the icy road. He brought his car under control, but it was very muddy, and he had to be very careful what he did.

But suddenly, he saw something that made his blood run cold. The person in the car behind had a weapon. He didn't know what it was, but it was cold and steel and deadly.

He sped up, and the Land Rover sped up too, but suddenly it met the muddy part of the country lane, and skidded. The driver's attention had been focused on Edward Hall, and suddenly the Land Rover had smashed into the back of the convertible, practically slicing Hall in half. He was lucky, and managed to grab the backseat, pulling himself out of the wreck.

But now, he was in the middle of the road. Hunter saw his chance, and advanced. But, not from the Land Rover, as Hall had suspected. Hunter came from the other end of the road, speeding towards the helpless Businessman.

Edward Hall reached forward with one arm, trying to free his other.

"Stop!" he screamed, but, due to pain, it only came out as a hoarse whisper.

He tried to work his hand free from beneath the wheel, and saw the other driver. His head had protruded through the windscreen. The weapon he had been wielding was a can of coke. He was not at all dangerous, and Edward Hall felt stupid for a moment.

Suddenly his hand was free, and he stood up. The car was only about four feet away, and Hall jumped away at the last second. But Hunter wasn't about to let him escape. Suddenly, a crash of bullets fired from the car window, and Hall dropped to the floor. Blood dripped from his wounds.

Hunter drove on, and threw away the gun. One businessman left.

* * *

Alex opened the door to the lab. He winced slightly as it creaked, but then relaxed. There was no one about, and it was the dead of night. Everyone would have gone home.  
He had caught the bus to a shopping centre, and bought himself a thick woollen polo neck jumper, a black knitted hat, and pair of black jeans. He needed something looser, but there was nothing. He was lucky to get what he did, with it being so close to Christmas.

He had also bought some rather strange items. Smithers had given him nothing, as MI6 had found some budget restrictions, and so Alex had made his own.

They were specific to what he needed, and he knew when he would need them.

First, he had sharpened the edges of a two-euro coin, creating a form of throwing dagger. It wouldn't kill you, but it would graze the skin.

For his other gadget, he had bought an ordinary biro, and some wire. He'd connected the wire to the microphone device he had used at the interview. He wrapped it around the ink feeder, and placed the biro in his pocket. He now had a way of communicating with Vicky. She was on watch outside.

He had also brought a kitchen knife, as he knew it would be useful.

Getting past the security was simple. He managed to manoeuvre away from the security cameras, and the lock system was simply a padlock.

Now, he was entering the lab. His immediate reaction was that he had entered outerspace. It looked like the inside of a space ship, where aliens do experiments on kidnapped humans. The whole room was gleaming and shiny. His reflection was everywhere, and the light from his torch illuminated the whole room. It was like a hall of mirrors at a theme park.

Alex approached the tank. He couldn't see what was in it, but he already knew. He tried lifting the tank, but couldn't. He knew that he couldn't move it at all, and he knew. He would have to reach inside. He reached in, and felt something mushy. He pulled, and it came free of the chargers. Slowly, as the water trickled away, Alex saw what was really inside the tank.


	12. Brain Power

Chapter Twelve

**Brain Power **

It was a brain. A human brain, a living human brain.

"Brilliant, isn't it?"

Alex spun to see Dr. King behind him. Vicky was next to him, her mouth gagged, her eyes frightened.

"Brains are such interesting things. Did you know, the brain is 80 water? Also, the size of your brain is about twice the size of your clenched fist. Of course, you only use half of it."

He thought the last remark had been an insult, but he knew the doctor was probably only talking the truth.

"So. You felt the need to question my authority? Or rather, to question my credibility as a scientist? To be honest, if you had broken in and looked at any other type of experiment, I wouldn't have cared. But I told you not to mess with the brain!"

"I think you're the one who's been messing with the brain, Dr. King." Alex murmured in reply. "Whose brain is it?"

"An agent from MI6. Like you, Alex. Like Miss Bennett here. CIA, yes?" He didn't wait for an answer before continuing. "As you may have guessed, Project Resurrection is all about the brain. But I can't tell you any more, in case you escape with this secret before I experiment on your brain."

With that, he dragged Vicky to the operating table, and strapped her down. Alex tried to run for the door, but before he was halfway across the room, there was a zap, and he fell, his whole leg nearly exploding from the electric charge. He eyes closed, and he was out cold.

* * *

"Took you a bloody while," stated Dr. King as Alex woke. "Miss Bennett here has been awake for an hour or so already. Don't want to keep your girlfriend waiting.

"Now, I feel it's time for me to explain. My parents died when I was young. Rather like you I believe, Mr. Rider? Apparently, they could have survived if the paramedics had managed to jumpstart their brains. Rather like defibrillators. But, obviously, for the brain. Of course, though impossible, I tried. I managed to resurrect a human brain. I won't bore you with the details, but now, if a brain gets fried, I can resurrect it. Of course, it's tremendously expensive, and involves stealing sunlight, but it works."

"This is insane. I suppose we're your next experiments?"

"Of course."

Alex looked around. His hands were by his side, and could probably grab something from his pocket, but all that was in there was his sharp coin and his biro. He supposed they weren't taken, as they were less conspicuous as a kitchen knife.

But then he had an idea. The doctor had already gone to turn on a large machine that flashed above their heads. He reached into his pocket, and pulled out the biro and the coin. The coin he kept concealed in his hand, but he made the pen obvious.

"What are you holding?" asked Dr. King.

"Oh, it's a biro."

"What! That will ruin the whole experiment! Give it to me!"

Alex handed over the biro. It was then that Dr. King noticed the wires inside. Wires wrapped around a metal core made an electromagnet. Electromagnets attract electricity. Dr. King was holding the electromagnet.

But nothing happened. The electricity in the machine was focused, and had not been switched on. Dr. King put the biro in his pocket, and switched on the machine.

Instantly, a jet of electricity shot from the machine. All Dr. King would have to do was point it towards Alex or Vicky, and it would all be over.

But, Dr. King had underestimated everything. Alex's gadget, the true strength of the electricity, how focused it really was, and how many people would be shocked at his death. He would have a shocking death.

Alex flicked the coin at the last second. It shot up, reflecting the electricity straight into Dr. King's face.

That was another mistake. Alex and Vicky were lying on rubber sheeting. Presumably, Dr. King hadn't wanted the entire metal room to electrify, so he had made sure that they didn't conduct the electricity. Now it was him conducting electricity.

Suddenly, he fell back, his brain fried. It took about four seconds for the whole room to explode into fire.

But Alex and Vicky had been lucky. The electricity had coursed through their chains, snapping them, and letting the spies free. A small electric shock was a tiny price to pay. But now they had to get out.

Did Dr. King lock the doors? Apparently so, and his keys were probably snapped as well.

"Up!" Vicky cried, standing and looking around frantically.

"Right!" Alex said. The windows were bursting with the intensity of the heat, and so Alex climbed onto a tabletop and climbed through one. Vicky followed.

Now they were in a lobby, but Alex still didn't know where the exit was. The fire was spreading. They ran down a corridor, and came face to face with Annika. She was holding Stefan, the other recruit, around the neck. She was also holding a gun.

She pointed the gun at Vicky and fired. Vicky dropped to the floor, probably dead. She pointed the gun at Alex. And then, the inevitable happened. The explanation.

"You ruined everything! Dr. King was helping people!"

"You mean, people like Sven Atalay? People like the MI6 agent he killed?"

"No. People like my father. He is dying. Dr. King was only days away from finding a cure to cancer. And you killed him!"

"You clearly aren't seeing the whole picture here, so-"

"Silence! I have had enough. Any more, and I will shoot him."

But Alex saw right there and then, she did not have the heart to shoot any more. Talking about her dad had made her feel more sensitive about death. She would not shoot.

"Look, I don't care. Shoot him. We need to get Vicky to hospital as soon as possible."

"No! Why should I save her? WHY?"

"She shouldn't be involved with this. Neither should Stefan. Let them both go. Kill me."  
"Okay," she said, aimed, and fired the gun.


	13. Car Park

There you go. This is what you all seemed to want. Not the final chapter, but almost finished now, and I'll update asap with the finale. It'll shock you, I hope. It took bloody ages.

Chapter 13

**Car Park**

The end came quickly after that. Annika had heard the sirens, and instead of aiming for Alex or Stefan, she had aimed at the light fixture, hoping to darken the room and make her escape. She had, unfortunately, run straight into several hundred kilograms worth of scientific equipment. It had toppled, and though by the time the actual shelving hit her most of the microscopes, test tubes and safety goggles lay shattered on the ground, it was enough to knock her unconscious.

Of course, as soon as the lights went off, Alex dived at Stefan, to protect him from the deadly shot. It never came, but the sound of someone being crushed underneath shelving was enough to tell them they were safe, for the moment. Of course, the CIA burst in only seconds later, with small electric torches, so as not to draw attention to their arrival. They all wore protective masks, so Alex could not tell who they were.

They found Vicky first. Then, they noticed Annika, and finally Alex. The leader of the agents beckoned towards Alex, but he pointed at Vicky.

"I'm fine! She needs your help more than I do."

Alex saw the CIA men approach, and someone rush forward with a stretcher, then he passed out.

* * *

After a routine hospital check, Alex was back at home. Sabina had called, and they had talked for a long time. This had cheered him up slightly, until MI6 called, and asked to see him at the Royal and General at five pm the next day.

He had decided that this was it. The last visit. He didn't care about his two weeks notice. He could hand it in two weeks late. He wasn't going back, he knew that. What had happened in Germany had been quite enough.

* * *

Hunter looked left, then right, then walked out into the dark street. He was careful to avoid street lamps, and also careful not to catch the eye of Alan Blunt, who, he was surprised, was alone. No bodyguards, not even a weapon, as far as Hunter could see. Which was very far indeed.

Blunt sped up, and crossed the street. He was headed towards a car park, where a silver Mercedes was parked. Hunter already knew how Blunt would die, and it had all been set up. Hunter just wanted to be there, to see the man who had ruined his life finally meet his end.

Blunt took out a set of keys. He pressed a button, deactivating the alarm, and then unlocked the car door. He slid into the drivers seat, buckled up his seat belt, and...stopped.

Something had made Blunt pause. He hadn't turned the keys, and that was crucial. Hunter had filled the tank with petrol, and rewired the car engine, so that when it was started an electric charge would be sent to the petrol tank.

But why had Blunt stopped? He was taking off his seatbelt now, and Hunter knew why. He could smell the gas. It had leaked, and now, Blunt was out of the car, and moving toward the petrol tank. He opened it, and sniffed. He knew there was something wrong.

'Oh well,' Hunter thought. There's always Plan B. He fished around in his pocket until he found what he was looking for. It was a small black box, with a single red button. It would start the engine anyway, and the whole car would be blown to smithereens. He only had to push.

Hunter pushed.


	14. Stars and Stripes

Chapter Fourteen

Stars and Stripes

Alan Blunt moved the key towards the ignition, and then stopped. Something was not right. He'd had a sense of being watched since he'd left the Royal and General, over half an hour ago. He'd come straight here.

He had been followed. And something else was different. Nothing major, at first. His wing mirror was out of focus, as if it had been moved. There was a scratch on the dashboard. The radio station had been altered, not that he ever listened. It had previously been set to a local radio station, but now the dial had been twisted in between 108 and 109. He didn't bother switching it on. He unbuckled his seat belt, and climbed out of the car, and that was when Alan Blunt saw that the underside of the steering wheel had been taken out. It was not properly back in place, and two of the screws were missing.

He got out, and went around to the petrol tank. He knew it had been almost empty. If it was full, he would know. It was full. Alan Blunt had only time to turn around, when his whole body was engulfed in flame. He was thrown forwards, towards Hunter, and Hunter could see the skin, blackened, but not gone completely. The smell of burning filled the air, and no doubt at any moment, someone would alert the fire brigade.

Hunter fled.

* * *

When Jack Starbright awoke at nine o'clock, she knew something was up. She looked in Alex's room, and he wasn't there. She looked in the kitchen. She looked in the bathroom. She even looked in Ian's old study, though she could hardly bear more than a quick glance, even now.

Alex was nowhere to be found. She went into the living room, and saw that everything was a mess. Had Alex put up a fight? Someone had smashed a window, and broken in. How had she not heard? She quickly ran upstairs, dressed, and picked up the phone.

* * *

Alex awoke to find himself in tremendous pain. He had fought... He could remember that much. He had been overpowered, of course, but he would have fought to the death. Of course, they'd had weapons, both of them. But they'd been told to keep him alive. So they had hit him with the barrel of a gun, and dragged him away.

He didn't know who they were, or how they had gotten in. All he knew was that they were going to kill him.

He looked around. He was high up, that much he knew. The air was thin, and he guessed he might be in some kind of aircraft. All he could see were metal walls, and he was quite sure he was in the hold of an aeroplane. There was not much else he could see, and so he decided to sleep.

* * *

As soon as Mrs. Jones received John Crawley's email, she called in five of her top agents. She was in charge of MI6 now as, though Alan Blunt had survived, she'd been told that the damage he'd sustained could leave him permanently hospitalized. He had not awoken yet, but when he did, she did not want to give him news of the loss of their most unique agent. Alex Rider, had he been 10 years older, would have been the best. She had to get him back.

After briefing the five agents, she went to the hospital. She knew he had sustained massive injury, and had been warned by a kindly nurse that he would not look anything like she had once known him too. The nurse had been right, but she could still see him in there. His face has horribly burned, and one of his arms was completely disfigured. The nurse told Mrs. Jones that that would be a permanent loss. It was currently attached to a drip, and she could see it. Two of his fingers were entirely blackened, and his thumb had been bent into a strange and irregular position.

She had sat with him for a long time, not speaking. It made her sad, and she almost asked the nurse if there had been any other visitors. Family? Friends, maybe? She didn't, though. If Alan didn't want to reveal his private life, that was his choice. It would be betraying him.

As soon as Mrs. Jones left the hospital, she received a call. She answered, and the four words she heard before the voice hung up were "We have Alex Rider."

The caller had made one fatal mistake, however. They had called her personal phone, and only three people had that number. One of them was Alan Blunt. She assumed whoever it was had attempted to kill Blunt, and steal his phone to get Mrs. Jones' number. The mistake was that they had called her from Alan's phone. She had his number, and this could be used to track the phone.

* * *

Less than five minutes later, Mrs. Jones and her five top agents were on a flight to America.

This time when Alex awoke, he was in what appeared to be a living room. There were two armchairs, and a table in the centre. On the far wall was a painting, a Van Gogh imitation, by the looks of it. How ironic, he thought, that he should die in a living room. But even before he could formulate a plan, any way that he could escape, someone entered the room. Someone he knew, without having ever seen.


End file.
